Listen, she is merciless as a Saracen.
My poor heart jumps for its den at the sight of her,leaving me a little breathless,
wobbly, tongue-tied, what a mess.
'Scuse me Miss, what lovely teeth you have,
pretty maids all in a row,
the better to slay me with.
Her voice is cream to the cat, I'll fall off the fence.
dazzled and stupid, upside down on the ground.
She wears tortoiseshell glasses,
she's a rocket scientist distant as Mars
because I am shy, uncertain, starstruck, clumsy,
knocked over by the fragrance she wears,
gone from austere bookworm
to clueless spaz
with no escape except into the stacks to recover.
Like a ninny I return to the shrine,
her reference desk lair
where I hope to inherit a word or a smile
to check out and take home and keep
like an overdue volume.
That's when I'll go back
and say to my librarian crush,
"Hi, I'm your fool, can you help me?"
And hope, like an idiot, that she can.
________
